


Talk to Me

by ChucklesDaHorse



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cheese, F/M, Musical Stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 20:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7772719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChucklesDaHorse/pseuds/ChucklesDaHorse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA *cues the Music Club AU*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk to Me

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TYoQ6WLuMq4

“There you go,” grunted the bartender, slamming down the twin glasses. “Two carrot martinis…” With a knowing smirk, he dropped two baby carrots into each glass, and added, “ _Extra_ carrots. That’ll be fifteen bucks.”

Judy smiled sweetly at the small fennec fox standing on the bar’s counter. Handing him a twenty from her purse, she took the glasses and replied, “Thank you”—she glanced at the nametag pinned to his shirt—”Finnick. Keep the change.”

“Better believe I will,” the fennec named Finnick muttered, stuffing the bill in his shirt pocket. He watched the bunny snatch up one of the glasses and down her drink in one gulp, carrots and all. He whistled as she slapped the glass back down on the counter. “Damn, take it easy, bunny. You might hurt yourself, you ain’t careful.”

Judy took a moment to savor the cool feeling of the alcohol sliding down her throat before answering: “Sorry. I just thought that maybe this place would seem a little less disappointing if I wasn’t completely sober.”

The bartender chuckled and took the martini glass back. “Guess it ain’t been the right night for you, huh?” he teased.

With a sigh, Judy shook her head. “Doesn’t look like it, no.” She spun around in her seat, leaned back against the bar, and scanned the room with a bored expression.

The club was called Wild Times, but at the moment it looked nothing like its title. A majority of the customers sat in lounge chairs scattered across the club, chatting lightly as they sipped at their drinks. On the sizable stage at the far end of the room, a panther crooned as he ran his paws over the keys of a grand piano. The song he was singing was old enough for Just to doubt that even her grandparents would be able to recognize it. Normally she balked at the sound of jazz music, but she could hear the passion for it in the panther’s voice, and that made it bearable to her, especially when she watched the way he swayed along as he played. At least, she could _sort of_ watch him sway: the entire club appeared slightly out of focus to her, thanks to a thin haze of cigar smoke that pervaded the area. Altogether, the energy in the club was barely at a low hum, let alone anything she’d call “Wild.”

Sighing again, she sipped her second martini, and grimaced. The first one had been downed so fast she’d had no chance to actually taste any of it. Now, though, she could truly experience the foul blend of veggie and vodka that the fennec behind the bar had concocted for her. She wretched at the drink’s taste, and set it down on her coaster.

“Aw, what’sa matter?” Finnick cooed. “I thought bunnies liked carrots. Didn’t seem to have a problem with the first one.”

Wiping her lips, she turned back to him, resisting the urge to tell him off for his tone of voice. She said, “Didn’t have to taste it. Who told you vodka and carrots go well together?”

Finnick snorts. “You wanted a martini, you got a martini.”

“You make carrot martinis with gin, not vodka,” she insisted, nudging her glass towards him. “Everybody knows that.”

The bartender made no move to take the drink back. “Yeah? Well, apologies, Flopsy, but we don’t get that many rabbits in here.” His ears twitched, and he turned his head towards a polar bear yelling from the other side of the bar. “Listen, I got customers to serve. If you’re looking for a better drink, specials menu’s right there on the counter.”

“Hey!” Judy called, but the fennec was already strolling over to the polar bear, leaving her with her unsavory beverage. She sighed again, shaking her head in disbelief. Under her breath she muttered, “What is that guy’s _problem_?”

“Besides unchecked aggression and anger issues? He hasn’t been laid in a while.”

“ _Gah!_ ” Judy started in her seat, nearly tumbling to the floor, and felt a large paw wrap around her midsection. Steadying herself, she spun around to look at who it was that had snuck up on her, and found herself face-to-face with a red fox in a dark gray suit. Keeping his paw around her, he smiled.

“Sorry about that,” he said, chuckling. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

 Judy glanced down at his paw and gently pushed it off. She straightened out her light blue blouse and replied, “I wasn’t scared, just startled. I startle kind of easy.”

“Huh,” he smirked, leaning against the bar, “a bunny who startles easily. And here I was thinking I’d seen everything.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes. “Ugh, not you too.”

The fox chuckled again. “Finnick give you a hard time with your drink?”

“Yes. He didn’t know the right way to mix a carrot martini, and then he just walked off without fixing it.”

“Yeah, sounds like him. He’s a little dismissive when it comes to the troubles of prey.” He shrugged. “We don’t get that many around here, though, so it’s not usually a problem.”

He wasn’t wrong—most of the mammals sitting around the club were predators, and those that were prey were of the larger variety, the kind that don’t usually have to worry about running from anything. It was a fact that had been bugging Judy since she’d stepped into the place that evening.

“Any idea why that is?” she asked, glancing at a group of rhinos playing cards in a corner of the room.

Again, the fox shrugged. “Eh, there are plenty of clubs in this city, and lots of them are more prey-friendly ones, too.” He smirked mischievously at her and wiggled his eyebrows. “Besides, I heard the guy who owns this place is a big, bad _fox_.”

Judy snorted. “Oh, come on. Not all rabbits are afraid of foxes.”

“You sure?” He leaned closer to her and bared his teeth. “You did jump pretty high when I scared you.”

“Startled, not scared,” she reminded. “And it had nothing to do with your species, you snuck up on me.”

“I prefer the phrase ‘approached with quiet diligence.’” He looked at her unfinished martini and pointed to it. “That what Finnick made you?”

She regarded the glass with disdain and said, “Yeah. Care to try it, see if you like it?”

“No, but I can offer you something better.” Leaning over the bar, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a sharp whistle, making Judy wince and flinch her ears away in response. He called down to the other end of the bar, “Hey, Finn! Two Pete Cottontail’s Ales over here, on me!”

The fennec turned to look at him, saw Judy sitting next to him, and rolled his eyes. He trudged over to a small ladder that took him down underneath the bar’s counter, and stepped over several crates labeled with different brands of drink before reaching one marked with the name the red fox had called out.

“You ever had a Pete Cottontail’s?” he asked her as they waited. “They’re one of my favorites.”

“Really? You like carrot-flavored beer?”

“Carrot-flavored _ale_ ,” he corrected, “and yes, although I do love a nice blueberry margarita, too.” He settled against the bar again, leaning back and propping up his elbows so that his paws dangled over the counter’s edge. He raised an eyebrow and smirked again. “Why? What did you think I liked to drink?”

Judy followed his lead, leaning forward and resting her cheek in her paw. She teased, “Mm, I don’t know. Something a little more… _foxy_.”

He let out another chuckle as Finnick approached the two, dragging with him two bottles that were very nearly his size. He propped them up and slid them over to their respectful drinkers.

“Two Pete Cottontail’s Ales,” he spat, as though the title was a curse.

The red fox smiled back at him, despite this attitude, and replied, “Thanks, buddy! I appreciate it.”

The fennec just glared at him in disgust before returning his attention to the rest of the bar.

“Well, you two seem like just the best of friends!” Judy chirped, taking a sip of her drink. She smiled at its taste, more than satisfied with the improvement over the garbage martini.

“Yeah, I don’t know where I’d be without old Finn,” he replied, appearing not to catch her sarcasm. “He’s helped me through more troubles that I can count.” He slugged back a good fourth of his drink, and sighed as he set the bottle down. Turning back to Judy, he asked, “So, besides the bartender’s less-than-kind words, how’s the night been treating ya?”

“Not too well, if I’m honest.” She gestured to the smoky lounge room. “This isn’t exactly the ‘wild new club everyone’s talking about’ that was advertised to me. In fact, this place seems more like the country club my grandparents used to go to, before they got too old for it.”

She didn’t notice the fox’s ears flattening against his head, or the steely glare his emerald eyes took on. Keeping his voice as even-tempered and charmingly smooth as before, he asked, “And who exactly advertised this place to you?”

“This weasel I met in a coffee shop, Duke. He told me about this place after I mentioned I was looking for a gig, said this is where all the new musicians in Zootopia go to get discovered.”

“You heard it from Duke Weaselton?” He threw his head back and barked out a laugh. “Oh, that idiot…” He scratched his muzzle, and continued, “Well, if any of what Duke told you were true, then you’d probably have known that tonight’s Jazz Night, the one night of the month when this place _isn’t_ stuffed full of people looking for new talent to leech the life out of.” He gulped down more of his ale. “If that’s what you came here for, then congratulations, it’s exactly the wrong night for you to be here.”

“Oh.” Judy took a drink, feeling a slight buzz in her head from both the alcohol in her system and the embarrassment at being fooled so easily (and by a weasel, no less). She swallowed hard and, after giving him a once-over and hesitating briefly, asked, “Are– Are you a manager, then? You seem to know a lot about how things work around here.”

His grin widened, and she caught another good look at his fangs.

“Yeah, well, I should. I own the place.” He extended his large paw to her. “Nick Wilde. That’s with an ‘e’ at the end, not like the sign says outside.”

Judy tried her best to hide her blush by shaking his paw as firmly as she could. “Judy Hopps,” she muttered, staring straight at his tie and mentally smacking herself for insulting the owner’s club right to his face.

Yet Nick’s expression remained cool and collected, if not a little more cocky than it had been before. “Judy, huh?” he said, lowering his paw to his bottle. “I take it you’re not from the city, then.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because no one in the modern age names their kid Judy. You from Podunk?”

She resisted the urge to slap the grin off his face and instead growled, “Bunnyburrow.”

“Ah, close!” he exclaimed. Glancing at the panther on stage, he continued, “Okay then, Judy Hopps from Bunnyburrow, if the sweet, velvety pipes of the one and only Renato Manchas aren’t your thing, I can show you upstairs. I promise it’s much quieter. Lot less smoke, too.”

Judy raised an eyebrow, wondering what exactly his game was, but replied, “Sounds good to me,” anyway.

“Great!” Nick snatched up his bottle of ale and made a grand gesture towards the back of the club. “Stairs are in back. After you, Carrots.”

Squinting at him, she warned, “You’ll want to refrain from calling me that, Mr. Wilde.”

“Duly noted,” he answered, his expression telling her he absolutely would not be refraining from anything. “Now let’s go enjoy our drinks in peace.”

* * *

It was indeed peaceful on the second floor of the club, mostly because it had been made off limits to regular customers.

“Are we even allowed to be up here?” Judy asked, stepping past the crimson curtain that Nick had drawn back for her and out onto what appeared to be a rooftop patio. Like the floor below, there was a bar, tables, and lounge chairs for mammals to sit at. There was no stage, however, and the entire area was enclosed in a short, black iron fence. The fencing was topped with old-fashioned streetlights every few feet, giving the place a promenade-like glow that was just dim enough to be able to see the stars twinkling overhead in the night sky. The sounds and smells of the club below were gone, replaced with the white noise of the city and the gentle breeze the night had decided to kick up. Her skirt fluttered in said breeze, and she flattened it against her legs again as she stepped forward.

Nick’s brow creased. “You _do_ know who you’re talking to, right?” He let the curtain fall back. “I can do what I want with my club.”

Judy walked over to the balcony looking out at the downtown area. Setting her purse down beside her, she gazed at the city and said, “It’s a beautiful view.”

“I should hope so.” He joined her at the balcony, resting his arms on the fencing. “It took quite the hustle to finally get this place bought up. Do you know how hard it is to get a property with a great view of not one, not two, but three different districts?” He turned to look across the roof at Tundra Town, visible through a sizable window in the walls that separated each district, and muttered, “The arms I had to twist for this place…”

His tail swished and brushed Judy’s legs, making her shiver and tug her skirt down a little farther. She opened her mouth to say something, but saw he was turned away and paying her no mind. She settled for watching his fur flutter in the breeze while sipping her ale. After considering for a moment, she said, “I’m sorry for insulting your club. I was having kind of a bad night.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” Nick chuckled, turning back to her. “And hey, if jazz isn’t your thing, it isn’t your thing. I mean, you’re crazy, but whatever.”

She elbowed him, but couldn’t help giggling anyway, and he joined her. They laughed together for a while, looking out at the city lights, before Nick set his drink down and asked, “So then, what _is_ your thing, Fluff?”

Deciding to let the nickname slide this time, she answered, “Oh, I like most music. Pop, rock, electronic, the stuff you hear on the radio.”

Nick grimaced. “ _Eugh_. Jazz Night _definitely_  isn’t for you.” He dodged another elbow and said, “But I meant _your_ music.”

“Hm?”

“You play, right? You asked if I was a manager earlier.”

“Oh, yeah!”

“Ooh, wait, let me guess.” He rubbed his chin, squinting at her and humming loudly, and she again felt the need to smack the sarcasm out of him. “You say you’re from Bunnyburrow?” He leaned down so they were at eye level with one another and smirked. “How about a folk musician, then?”

“Just because I’m a bunny, doesn’t mean I play folk music!” she insisted.

“Oh? Then what do you play?” When an answer failed to escape her lips, his smirk widened. “Thought so.”

“Hey!” she objected. “My music isn’t just one thing! I have my own sound!”

“Are you sure?” Nick asked. “Because it sounds familiar to me already. Let me see if you’ve heard this one before: little bunny thinks she’s got something special, decides one day that she’s gonna move to Zootopia, where anyone can be anything, because she just _knows_  she’s got what it takes to be the next big thing, only to discover that, whoopsie, she’s _not_ quite as unique a voice as she thought because, double whoopsie, those strokes of genius she thought she was putting down in her journal under the apple tree in the garden aren’t actually the most original thoughts in the world, and so now, whoopsie number threesie, she’s drowning in a sea of voices that are all too busy saying how great they are to even realize they’re all exactly the same.” He pounded back the rest of his ale and smacked the bottle down with a hollow _clink_. “How’s _that_ for a familiar sound?”

It took only a second looking at the hurt in her eyes for him to realize he’d gone over the line, so he turned to watch the city twinkle in the dark, smirk faltering into a frown.

“You haven’t even heard me play,” she mumbled, sounding not unlike someone who’d just been stepped on. “How do you know what I sound like?”

His mind yelled at him to apologize, but his mouth said, “Hey, I’m just saying, that’s what a manager is gonna hear.”

“No.”

He frowned and looked over at Judy. She had her arms crossed, and glared up at him in defiance.

“I don’t know what your problem is, bringing me up here just so you can try and step on my dreams, but you’re wrong,” she asserted. “I’m going to find a manager and knock their socks off with my music, and I’m going to get a contract signed, and one day everyone in this city is going to be singing along to my songs.”

Nick felt tempted to laugh, but something about the determination this bunny was showing shut him up. He just watched, slightly dumbfounded, as Judy snatched her ale back up and chugged the rest of it. She slammed the empty bottle down again and sighed.

“And I’m not doing it to be the ‘next big thing,’” she added, snatching her purse up and turning to leave. “I’m doing it because I love it.”

She had her paw on the velvet curtain when he called to her:

“Put your number in my phone.”

Pausing where she was, Judy took a moment to consider whether it was worth it to acknowledge him again. Against her better judgment, she turned.

Nick hadn’t moved from his spot at the balcony. His arm was stretched out in front of him, his phone offered to her in his paw. The look on his face was something close to apologetic.

“Why?” she asked, folding her arms again.

“You came here for a gig, I’ll give you a gig,” he answered. “There’s a slot this Thursday night that I need to fill. If you want it, it’s yours.” He wiggled his phone. “Just need your contact info.”

“And what makes you think I’d ever want to play for you after what you just said?”

“Because the one thing Duke didn’t lie to you about was how popular this place is with music producers.” That smooth, charming, infuriating smile of his came on again. “That’s who you’d be playing for. Not me.”

Judy’s foot stamped quietly and rapidly as she stared at him, unimpressed by his offer. He watched her stamp for a moment in silence and sighed.

“Come on, you’re really going to pass this up, just because I hurt your wittle feewings?” he teased.

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

Groaning, he said, “Look, I need this spot filled, you need a gig to get noticed. It’s a win-win situation. What else do you want? Free bar? Complimentary sound check? Shall I sing and dance for you?”

Her foot halted its stamping, and she smirked. “Sure.”

“Wh–” Nick stopped, unsure of what she’d just said. “Which part?”

“All of it,” she replied. “Since you offered.”

He took a moment to process the request, then deadpanned, “You want me to sing and dance.”

“Yep.”

“To get you to do this gig.”

Judy nodded. “Serenade me, slick Nick,” she cooed, waving a paw at him. “Or you’ll have to find somebody else for Thursday night.”

He stared at her in disbelief, jaw unhinged. She stared back, her smirk never wavering.

“ _I’m waiting_ ,” she sang, swaying her hips from side to side.

Nick glared at her another moment, wondering what he’d done to deserve this (a thought immediately answered with the memory of the past five minutes). He rolled his eyes, sighed again, and dropped his arms to his sides. He kept his eyes pointed up at the night sky as he muttered nonsense to himself. Judy watched as he hummed a few notes, catching the right tone for his performance, before he segued into actually singing some lyrics:

“ _There’s magic in the air_ ,” he mumbled in a flat tone, taking a step towards her. “ _The night sky drapes your face like a mystery uncovered_.”

“Hm?” She lifted an ear and held a paw to it. “What’s that? You’ll have to speak up, sweetheart.”

Nick grimaced at her, but kept singing, getting louder and less flat as he went on: “ _Talk to me; it’s now or never, babe. Make believe; the night lasts forever, babe. Come for tea, I’ll be your neighbor, if you want all this and more…_ ”

“I don’t see any dancing!”

To her surprise, he smirked at her, and lifted his phone up to her again. He began to shuffle over to her, wiggling the phone at her again as he sang with more attitude:

 _“Put your number in my phone, put your number in my phone. I hope to get some time alone…_ ” He stopped in front of Judy and leaned in until their noses almost touched. “ _I wanna get to know you more…_ ”

Judy could tell what his game was now, and hated that it was sort of getting to her. Forcing the heat out of her cheeks, she gave him her best hard look and ignored his jabbing at her chest with his phone.

“ _Baby, put your number in my phone…_ ” He leaned in even closer, so that his muzzle was practically inside her ear, and whispered, “ _If I could get some time alone–_ ”

“Okay, okay!” she interrupted, shoving him away from her. “That’s enough!”

His sneer made her even redder than she already was. “Are you sure?” He began to lean towards her again, and murmured, “Because there’s still a few _verses_ I can give you…”

“Ugh!” She snatched the phone from his paw and opened it. “You wish,” she mumbled, typing her number into his contacts list. When she was finished, she handed him the phone and said, “There. Text me so I have yours.”

Nick obliged, tapping a few times onto his phone screen before sending her a message. When her phone buzzed in her purse a moment later, she pulled it out and checked the screen:

 **NEW MESSAGE:  
** (Unknown Number)  
 _u up?_

She gave him a look that he returned with a smirk, then slid her phone back into her purse and said in a falsely sweet voice, “ _Lovely_.” Slinging the purse over her shoulder, she straightened up and continued, “Well, now that that’s all settled…” With a brief nod, she turned again to leave, pulling back the velvet curtain. “I’ll see you at sound check on Thursday..”

Nick said nothing in response, content with watching her go. He made to turn back to pick up the drained and forgotten Pete Cottontail’s, but stopped when he saw she’d paused in the doorway leading downstairs.

“Still need something, Carrots?”

Judy hesitated, then said without turning to him, “You know, you aren’t too bad a singer, when you’re actually trying.” She looked back and gave him a sly smile. “Ever thought of getting into the music business?”

For a split second, Nick’s expression wilted into something more somber than anything she’d seen on his face before. She’d tell herself she imagined it later, though, because in the next moment his smirk returned, although it looked a little more crooked now, like he was trying not to laugh at a joke only he understood.

She headed back down the stairs, calling behind her as the curtain fell into place again, “And don’t call me ‘Carrots!’”

Nick watched the velvet settle and listened until he heard the door at the bottom of the stairs open and shut. Then he looked down at his phone and pulled up her number. She’d put her name as **Judy Hopps**  in his contacts list. He stared at the name for a moment before letting out a short grunt and selecting the **Edit**  function on the contact. Smiling to himself, he erased her name and replaced it with the title **Carrots**.

“I get _something_ out of all this, dammit,” Nick mumbled as he slid his phone back into the breast pocket of his jacket. “I’m not crazy.”

 _And yet_ , he thought, mind already buzzing with thoughts of Thursday night, _I let her get to me._

Without another word, he turned and went to collect the empty ale bottles.

**Author's Note:**

> Original Post: http://theunrealhorseman.tumblr.com/post/145810730873/talk-to-me


End file.
